


Out of a Clear Blue Sky

by rayningnight



Series: The Traveller(s) [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, Mentor/Protégé, Time Travel, WIP, at least 1/3 of fate likes this idea, fate likes this idea, tsuna needs a role model
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayningnight/pseuds/rayningnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a parallel universe, Frederico miraculously survives, Reborn is never called in to tutor, and Tsuna remains a stupid coward. At least, that was the plan, until Fate fumbled her red strings and drops Vongola Decimo Sawada Tsunayoshi into the boy's world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of a Clear Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SO SORRY I'M WORKING ON THE X-FACTOR DON'T WORRY BUT THIS BASTARD CHILD WAS BORN WHILE WRITING AND I COULDN'T STOP - ONLY DO SOME CHILD-REARING SO IT COULD BECOME THIS. Who hates muses? *raises hand*
> 
> On the bright side, those twenty-five odd people who wanted this from my poll over on fanfiction dot net will hopefully enjoy.
> 
> Note: none of my works has a beta, so feel free to nitpick and tell me of typos/grammatical mistakes blablahblah etc.

.

.

.

Sawada Tsunayoshi is the prevailing leader in the Italian underground and the Tenth Boss of the Vongola, and as he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, he thinks whoever said that life slowed down when dying — with your life’s ups and downs and regrets flashing by— 

—was incredibly and unquestionably too stupid to _live_.

But Tsuna can barely think past that last thought as pain thrums and spasms once more through his body, and even the dreamy, distant feel of everyone flashes _whitehotpain_ before numbing to nothing to but his own slowing heartbeat.

He's been shot. Obviously. His crimson blood is already permanently dyeing his once pristine-white shirt. Tsuna isn't exactly sure who pulled the trigger on him, but he’s sure his _Fa_ _miglia_ will rain hell upon earth until they find the (wo)man(?), even if they have to scour Italy (and the globe) twice over. Because, not only has he been shot, but he's been shot twice in the _guts_ — he’s pretty sure that’s supposed to symbolize something — and all the Sun Flame users he knows of aren’t even in the same building, so he writes himself off as a lost cause.

Tsuna closes his eyes, and though he can still see painful colour splashing his back eyelids as he loses himself to darkness, it helps. Somewhat. He can at least think now that he doesn’t need to focus on everything around him. Or the pain. This life was long enough anyway, Tsuna rationalizes, inhaling the scorched air and chalky ashes. Most mafia bosses don’t live to this age, the _Nono_ notwithstanding — he was already a living legend because of all of the years he’s survived, told in the books and on wagging tongues.

Besides, now they’ll probably double his “overprotective” daddy defences over his precious children.

Tsuna smiles wryly as he lets himself go to the darkness and numbness. _I wonder_ _…_ _will I be able to see you? My koibito_ _…_ _? Or are my sins so heavy that they_ _’_ _ll pull me down from where you are_ _…_ _?_

Tsuna lets out one last sigh as he hears no more.

 _._ _  
_

_._ _  
_

_._

 

 _The Lady in Red smiles as she reaches for the mortal_ _’_ _s string, weaved and trimmed and stitched with various other threads in all the years he_ _’_ _s been living;_ _now_ _it begins to dye to the colour of her domain she spun in. The base was a beautiful colour, the Lady thinks, especially for a mortal_ _—_ _and her admiration takes a moment too long. The Lady in White tries to snatch the ribbon from her sister, her fingers skimming the thread leaving white wisps, but it_ _’_ _s too late; the knots unfurl and untie_ _and she fumbles the_ not-red _string;_ _the bright strand_ _falls to their last sister, and the Lady in Black cuts it off from that world_ _,_ _frayed edges and cleaned colour that_ _’_ _s_ not-red-not-white, _and it lands in a different basket altogether._

 _The Lady in White huffs and sits back down, taking away the measuring rod to another thread. The Lady in Black doesn’_ _t notice anything amiss_ _—_ _for she is blind, literally and to the whole situation._

It’s only a mortal _, the Lady in White decides and turns back to her own work, which is now moments behind schedule, tsk tsk_ _._ It won’t matter in the long run anyway.

 _And the Lady in Red follows her, smiles and continues on, weaving and spinning and forgetting this specific mortal's story; what with all the many parallel selves of Sawada Tsunayoshi she_ _’_ _s already gone through, it_ _’_ _s no wonder she_ _’_ _ll never notice the frayed edges of the oh-so-_ beautiful _ribbon already tyingconnectingharmonizing to become part of this basket, part of this world, part of a whole once more._

 _At least, that's_ _what she'll_   _tell her sisters._

.

.

.

_"Hieeeeeeeeee!"_

Tsuna totally justifies his indignant screech when he sees a body literally appear _out of thin air_ and land in the middle of the lawn.

Stumbling over the manga books and dirty clothes exploded in his room, Tsuna sprints down the staircase two-at-a-time with a babbled excuse tossed to his mom that he’ll be in the yard and _please_ don’t disturb him, before he slams the veranda mosquito net and glass slide and nearly freezes before the forgotten wooden stair. _Nearly_ being the keyword, because he trips over the ledge over the flowerbed anyway.

With a pained groan, he nurses his throbbing head and brushes off the market-bought soil and dewed grass. Tsuna looks up after another shake, one eye squinting from the afternoon sunlight before he blinks fitfully at the sight before him. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, takes a second look, and recoils in surprise and none too little fright.

There’s a dead person in his mother’s garden.

Or, he amends, _almost_ dead person, if the rising and falling of the man’s chest is to go by. Tsuna nervously scrambles up and towards the man, curious and frightful but _more_ curious than frightful, as he sees the crusted brownish-red on the man’s dress shirt and suspicious looking hole near the black suit’s left abdomen.

(Later, he’ll wonder why he was so drawn to the guy, why he would even go so near such an obviously dangerous person without running off and away like he would normally do.)

But, strangely, even though Tsuna knows this man is probably going to die and that there’s really no point — he’s an idiot, a coward, a _dame_ — he really doesn’t want to see a life waste away if there’s something he could maybe do to help.

So he runs inside, vaguely noticing his mother upstairs chatting on the phone, and grabs the cleanest-looking rags by the sink and rinses a few of them, snitches the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the stairs, and sprints back outside onto his knees and tries to recall what he can about medical care.

He’s not a doctor. Tsuna knows he should probably have called the ambulance or brought the stranger to the hospital or at least told his mother, but with the gunshot suit and once-pristine shirt and expensive-looking rings and gear… well, if Tsuna was being honest, the man looked like he dropped right out of some western gangster movie, and he doesn’t want to bring in more problems like involving the police when all he wants to do is save a life.

So, with shaking hands and worrying eye, Tsuna opens the black jacket and unbuttons the white shirt and, with a caught breath and tensed cheeks, he wipes away the blood (oh, kami, the _smell_ ) with that clear stuff from the bottle his mom usually applies to himself after a run-in with the local bullies to find—

Nothing. 

Once the rags scrubbed down the tanned skin, Tsuna discovers a crap-load of scars and partly-bleeding slashes and scratches with a number of bruises to create a motley rainbow of cringe-worthy colours, but nothing substantial, nothing _life-threatening_. Heck, if not for the bullet-shaped hole in the scorched suit and a couple of gashes, Tsuna would’ve thought the man only went through one of his own daily skirmishes with his classmates and upperclassmen, just a bit rougher than normal.

(Belatedly, he’ll realize that the rest of that still-drying blood had to have come from someone somewhere else if it wasn’t from the stranger, but that isn’t for a while yet.)

And then, suddenly, the man’s body _ripples, what the heck_ and muscles _spasm_ and—

But that spasm closes some of the bleeding cuts?

Tsuna’s pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen.

But… it’s with a smile on Tsuna’s face, as he dresses up the remaining few cuts (which are fortunately scabbing over now) and the strangely healed bullet-wound that, by all accounts, should either have an exit wound or still be bleeding because there isn’t one… but, well, Tsuna doesn’t question it.

He doesn’t question any of it.

He’s just happy that the stranger isn’t dead.

.

.

.

Days have passed, the stranger hasn’t woken up, and Tsuna begins to seriously worry.

Was that bullet some sort of dissolving poison like in those television shows? Tsuna kind of regrets not calling the hospital or telling his mom, but he supposes it’s better late than never.

But, of course, the day he decides to dial the local hospital’s number just has to be the day the man disappears.

Tsuna drops his schoolbag onto the floor and doesn’t even bother taking off his shoes because, from his vantage point, he can see through the doorstep, the hallway, the kitchen countertop and past the veranda glass slide, and he sees the garden shed door wide open and what the heck?

Dashing into the yard, he sees that there are at least a quartet of footprints in the thick bed of mulch and mud, and large misshapen lines that looked like the mark of some kid’s winter sled being dragged through the garden grass and dirt. No one toboggans in this season for obvious reasons, and suddenly Tsuna runs through various suspicions and conclusions, because he may be stupid, but there can only be so many answers to this kind of circumstance.

So, with dread gripping his heart, he follows the trail; and when that fades away, he follows his sheer intuition, noticing a familiar hair and fabric piece and glittery ring along the sidewalk and lamppost, one block, three blocks, and five blocks away respectively, before his instinct lead him to a dead end between the back of some construction site and an abandoned condo.

Usually, he’d have given up by now and slinked off home to try a hand at any assigned homework or waste the rest of the day off in the arcade.

But usually, he wouldn’t have gotten so far, wouldn’t have walked eleven blocks without taking a rest, wouldn’t have saved a probable-criminal for no reason other than _instinct_.

Therefore, Tsuna takes a breath and, before he walks back out into the streets, he hears something beyond the brick wall in the dank alley to his left.

No. He hears some _one_.

“You think this is funny? We’re only lucky Kakano was stupid enough to check out a fucking garden shed when he decided he wanted to ransack some house. Whose fucking idea was it to stuff their kill in some civvie’s place?”

Tsuna’s blood turns to ice when he hears _ransack_ and his _house_ in the same sentence.

His mother could’ve been in there. Alone. In a house to be ransacked —if not for the seemingly-wounded man in the Sawada garden shed that made Tsuna stay home for most of that week after school.

“Sorry boss,” a bunch of guys answer at the same time, and Tsuna doesn’t understand what exactly they’re apologizing for, (clearly this Kakano guy’s not in the room and they’re not responsible, aren’t they?), but he doesn’t question it.

Instead, he musters whatever courage and determination he can and climbs up the nearly decrepit wall and, swallowing painful mouthfuls of needed air and managing to stay quiet despite everything somehow, Tsuna peeps above the window atop the bricks and, once no one is looking, he scampers inside the open glass slide.

(Honestly, when he looked back, he can’t believe how lucky he was that day. Really, his foot-high, gravity-defying hair should’ve been seen at the least when he was ‘peeking’.)

There’s at least a dozen men inside, some wearing typical suits and shades while the other half rough around the edges, wearing loose slacks and bandaged limbs that look more for show than anything beneficial. One man has a sterner face and a mix-up of the two groups’outfits, suited up but with a bandaged abdomen in place of a dress-shirt. He has a wooden stick-sword-thing at his side, but his left hand is busy with a gold coin weaving through the fingers and his right hand is tipping a cheap cigar into a porcelain ashtray.

Tsuna easily deduces him as the boss.

A sneeze interrupts their conversation, and before Tsuna pisses himself in fear and panic for not even—  _wait_.

Everyone’s gaze doesn’t turn to Tsuna, but instead to the body of the probably-gangster-stranger, and the boss snarls, “You guys didn’t even check if the man was fucking alive?”

“Sorry boss,” they all say in unison and move, one man pulling out a wicked-looking serrated knife out of _nowhere._

_Hiiiee!_

Tsuna is frozen stiff as he watches the men stalk towards the oblivious man who was slumped just shy of the recently-started fireplace and a few feet from the corner, as if whoever had brought him in there grew too lazy to bring the stranger the whole way in, and whom, though sneezed, hadn’t actually woken up. The thirteen-year-old doesn’t know what to do, and before he can help it, he’s already halfway there toward the stranger’s side, screeching, “Wait!”

The various delinquents and  _yakuza_ , for that is what they obviously are, Tsuna realizes belatedly as he catches the tattoos running their arms and bare chests or snaking their neck underneath their suits, stare at him with something akin to surprise and quick annoyance. They begin to shout at him, threaten him, and inch closer by the second. Tsuna thinks he recognizes a few of them, now that he’s up close; two of them terrorized some old lady at the local marketplace before Hibari Kyoya came into the picture (and afterwards, they’d scurried off to mug some other poor sod a few blocks away).

Why did he come here? Tsuna wonders. It isn’t like he could actually do anything. Something cold and ugly and fearful settles in him, plucking a sick lullaby with his heartstrings as one guy with a ridiculous eye patch raises his knife to slit the once-saved-gangster-stranger’s throat and another man, short and stumpy and the closest to him, pulls out a freakin’  _firearm_.

Tsuna vaguely understands the man saying it’ll be quick and painless so _don_ _’_ _t worry son_.

He won’t even be missed, Tsuna realizes. There’s no need to worry. Son of housewife Nana and overseas worker Iemitsu — neither need him and neither will miss him. He was born from a young couple experimenting too early. Married too early. Or maybe even rashly eloped, considering the lack of relatives he has and the pitying glances he catches. His mother could do better without the Sawadas. His father would no longer have any obligations to come back. Tsuna’s a worthless mistake that should’ve been rid of years ago.

Stupid. _Inhale_.

Useless. _Click_.

Dame. _Exhale_.

It suddenly strikes a chord, because despite that, _he still wants to live_.

He wants to be a reason, not an excuse. He wants to become someone _worth_ something. He wants to do better, be better, become somethone _good_ if not _great_. A son worth to take care of, a son worth to come home to, a son that is better than “ _no-good_ ” — and for that to happen, he needs to _live_. He _will live_. _He **will**._

And Tsuna doesn’t realize the hearth embers behind him flare like a sudden bonfire, illuminating his gravity-defying hair to a golden colour to match his blinking firelight eyes, sharper, clearer, yet oddly vacant. His mind isn’t there anymore and his body runs on instinct and intuition.

He hazily sees his raised hands, engulfed in twilight flame and tangible fervour, and it’s as if someone else has taken over his body as he cites bits and pieces of memory: beating up half a dozen angry men shouting something about _who set the kid on fire_ and _freakfreakfreak_ and there’s a one-sided clash that lasts what feels like seconds but could be more, before there is an unmistakable click of a safety from a gun near his head and the glint of malice underneath dark shades and then there’s a strange warmth around him that isn’t from his fists and is that the sight of firelight eyes that match his own? — before the rest is drowned in flaming colour.

.

.

.

Tsuna startles awake, shooting up to only teeter over the edge of his bed and land on his not-so-soft rug. His blue comforter tangled with his legs follow after him, blanketing him until he can no longer see any sort of light, but that doesn’t matter. Under the covers, he’s hunched over his knees, gasping greedy gulps of air with a hand over his rapidly-beating heart.

Minutes pass and his body halts the tremors and his mind is clearing, his breath is evening out and he closes his eyes.

Tsuna tries to remember whatever nightmare that plagued him that day, whether it was with the neighbouring bullies or the kendo team or Hibari Kyoya’s glare or maybe a mash-up of them all, because damn, he hadn’t had this bad a panic attack before. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and runs a hand through his bedhead, allowing the comforter to collapse around him, and as sudden as the sunlight hits him, he can remember the fantastical dream last night with the not-quite-dead man, burly yakuza and fiery fists.

So.

…It was all a dream?

“Finally up?”

The low tenor is like a church bell, gonging through his room and mind and shaking the foundations.

Startled, Tsuna looks up, meeting foreign-familiar eyes like he’s seen every day in the bathroom reflection, like he’s seen most days at school, the typical Japanese brown. But it’s weirdly different in this man, chiselled and older andcreased with premature lines around them. They’re old and young at once, as if they’ve witnessed the horrors of the world with a smile, but there’s still some warmth within them, like a hearth, a flame—

 _Flames_. 

“They aren’t physical flames,” the man says, and oh, the way he speaks… Tsuna can’t help but shiver, because a voice shouldn’t hold such _weight,_ like some elder or emperor, when it’s timbre is so _light_. “They’re a manifestation of your Dying Will,” the capitals are obviously there, with that emphasis, with that _voice_ , “though, it’s a bit surprising, since you weren’t actually dying. Flames don’t appear unless your life isthreatened and you cast away every other feeling except your desperation and resolve.”

Curiosity entwines with confusion and disbelief as he speaks, “I’ve only heard of one person who was able to manifest their Flamesthis young. It’s never happened to me in my childhood even though I was …bullied.” The man looks at him, eyes bright and piercing.

 _Me too_. Tsuna thinks, blinking slowly. He’s been in ‘physical peril’ plenty of times, with a softball thrown by the wicked arm of Yamamoto-san that knocked him out and into the school infirmary, with tonfa to his “weak, herbivore hide” by Hibari-san that ended with him in the local hospital (and never late to class again), and he’d never turned into a human torch when even dangled by the ankles over— 

Tsuna shakes that thought off.

And suddenly realizes he’s been under scrutiny for some indeterminable amount of time.

“…were there always yakuza in Namimori?” the man asks with a frown.

Tsuna shrinks but nods quickly, “Uh, y-yeah, they’re called the —um —M- _Momokyokai Yakuza_. I dunno, um, m-much about them other than that they, uh—“ 

He cuts himself off at the unimpressed stare that concentrates in intensity and instantly shrinks even further into himself. _What did I do?!_

“It’s not what you did, it’s what you didn’t do.” Did he just read Tsuna’s _mind_? “Do you always say things before thinking them through? And no, I didn’t read your mind.”

Tsuna looks at him with disbelief.

The man rolls his eyes to the side, “…no wonder…  _reborn_ …” he mumbled unintelligibly before suddenly straightening himself, “When you’re answering a question, or even when you’re opening your mouth to talk at all, try to think of what you’re trying to convey to the other person _before_ you speak.”

Tsuna furrows his brows. “Bu-But then, uh, why would—“

The man places a hand on Tsuna’s shoulder, instantly silencing him. “ _That_ is why. Using ‘ _eto_ ’ every few seconds grates on my ears, and stuttering just means you’re thinking too much while you’re talking; you’re not trained to think along other tangents while speaking with others, but most kids do it anyway since — you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Tsuna nods along, though he lost the man halfway through his speech, but suddenly the man has stopped talking…?

_Hiiee!_

“S-Sorry!” he quickly pipes up, his cheeks flushing. “It’s just, uh, you’re talking too fast,”  _and normally no one would notice my lack of_ _—_ _of_ _—_ _understand_ _—_

“Comprehension skills, huh?” 

“Yeah…” Tsuna agrees before double-taking in disbelief. “You read my mind again!?”

“No, kid,” the man shakes his head and sighs, looking to the side in contemplation.

A minute passes.

Tsuna nervously stands up from his spot on the floor, but when he moves to place the comforter wrapped around him back onto his bed, he trips over the wire to one of his game controllers and prepares for face-plant and for the life of him he can’t believe how clumsy he is in _his own room_ with this stranger but then he’s suddenly stopped?

“Woah, are you okay?”

Holy this guy was _fast_ for a _—_ “Are you some kind of g-gangster?” Tsuna can’t help but blurt out because _omigoshomigosh there_ _’_ _s blood still dried on this sleeve and it_ _’_ _s_ cracking off onto him _omihiiieeeeeeeee_ _—_

“—Breathe, kid, breathe!” he vaguely hears through a sudden haze, “Three in, wait one second, three out, wait one second…” the man repeats in a mantra, a low hypnotic murmur that Tsuna can’t help but obey.

Breath in. Pause.

Breath out. Pause.

Tsuna repeats the steps over and over and unconsciously relaxes despite being in this probable-criminal’s arms. _Urk._

_Gurglegurgle._

He ducks his head and flushes. _Way to go, Tsuna._

The man cracks a small smile. “Okay, how about you go downstairs for some dinner? After, we’ll try to sort some stuff out.” 

“Like why you just _appeared out of thin air?_ ” Tsuna can’t help but ask. The man nods and runs a hand through his spiky brown hair that’s kinda like Tsuna’s own messy hair, but not _really_.

Tsuna begins to stride towards the door but hesitates, “Hey, aren’t you coming?”

The man blinks owlishly, as if the thought never occurred to him.

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m sure ‘kaa-chan w-wouldn’t mind serving you some food. Dinner and stuff, um, she loves cooking, you see.”

The man is now looking at him as if he’s grown another head, and for some reason keeps pointedly looking in Tsuna’s direction, flicking between scanning Tsuna’s body and his own.

“Oh!” Tsuna realizes with a hint of embarrassment. “A-Are you still hurt? You need, um, rest or something?”

The man’s unimpressed gaze turns just a tad incredulous.

Then Tsuna realizes the problem as he scans the man, looking closer.

“You need new clothes!” Tsuna registers, because, _duh,_ of course, he’d just had a panic attack before because of that dried blood—

 _Gurk_.

Quickly dashing all thoughts, he rushes over to his closet and takes out the biggest, baggiest shirt he owns and hands it over to the man. With tentative hands, the older brunet takes it, but why hadn’t he stopped looking at Tsuna that way?!

The man turns his gaze from Tsuna, to the shirt, to himself and repeats for a couple of moments before he palms his face, head flopped over, groaning under his breath. “…can’t _believe_ …” His head snaps up and there’s another unimpressed stare aimed right at Tsuna, making him flinch.

“You don’t realize who I am. You can’t even guess.” They’re statements, not questions, but Tsuna scans the man with brown hair and brown eyes and kinda familiar face… 

“Nope. Did I meet you, um, before?” asks Tsuna inquisitively. 

The man groans, both hands now covering his face with the shirt left on the bed forgotten.

Tsuna is really, really confused still, but gestures with his hand. “Well, c’mon. I’m hungry and, um, I can smell mom’s food downstairs already wafted up here. You’re definitely hungry, um, after all these days sleeping it out.” Suddenly Tsuna realizes he’d never introduced himself! “Oh, and, um, my name’s T-Tsunayoshi, but, um, you can just call me Tsuna! What’s your name?”

There’s no hesitation as the man stands up and answers, “Luciano.”

Tsuna had began walking out of his bedroom but pauses at the threshold. " _Roo_ — _russh_ -siia—"

The man quickly interjects. “Never mind, kid, just call me Toshi,” and there’s humour in his voice as he continues with a deadpan. “ _Toshiyuna_.” 

Tsuna wonders for a moment why the name sounded familiar but then another thought occurs. 

“Is —no, I’m pretty sure that isn’t even a name. How would you even, um, spell that? Like, isn’t that, um, like, three or four characters? Two names merged into one or, um, something?” 

The man groans again, and Tsuna wonders if he’s still hurting _that_ much why he doesn’t ask Tsuna to fetch some pain medication?

The man sighs, carding a hand through his hair. “Just call me Toshi.”

Tsuna shrugs before a thought occurs to him. “Hey, wait, why can’t I just call you, uh, _Roos_ _—_ uh— _Rossiiiahhno_?” Tsuna’s face burns as he realizes.

“…that’s why.”

.

.

.

“Oh, hello! Pleased to meet you Toshi-san!” Nana greets warmly after they all settle, before pausing, cocking her head to the side. “But how did you two get into the house? I’ve been downstairs all day…”

“You must have just missed us,” Toshi says smoothly, passing the soy sauce over to Tsuna, “I took Tsuna home after he stumbled into the nastier parts of Namimori.”

“Oh, Tsu-kun!” Nana quickly puts down her chopsticks and envelopes Tsuna in a hug, as he sat right next to her. “Are you okay? Well, you look fine…” She asks as she checks him over for bruising, hand on his cheek. 

Tsuna opens his mouth but Toshi-san quickly intervenes, taking the teapot at the table and serving Nana’s and Tsuna’s cups first before his own. “We didn’t have too much trouble, Sawada-san.” 

“Oh, just call me, ‘Nana’ dear! How did you come across Tsuna, Toshi-san?” Nana asks curiously, while thanking Toshi for the tea with a quick smile.

“I saw him surrounded by a gang and, considering how young Tsuna looked, I knew I had to get him out of there,” Toshi-san replies, inhaling the steam from his tea.

“Oh, thank you for saving my dame-son, then!” Nana exclaims with a smile at Tsuna that for some reason makes Toshi look at his mother funny, but the look is erased as she turns to their guest. “Were you just passing by the town?”

“I travel to many places,” Toshi says before taking a sip of the green tea. 

“Backpacking around the mountain parts here are fantastic if you know the right people and avoid the not-so-nice ones. You’ve probably met your fair share of interesting people, hiking around or what-have-you, right?” Nana giggles, gesturing towards Toshi, “Just look at those muscles!”

Tsuna bites his lip as he looks at Toshi, who had put on one of Tsuna’s largest shirts that was _still_ too small for him. Toshi looked incredibly uncomfortable in the close-fitting top, always pulling the collar piece every few minutes like it was choking him, but it seemed to be especially tight around his chest. Maybe Tsuna should have raided his dad’s clothes? Of course, it was in his mom’s room so…

“Could I lend one of dad’s shirt’s to Toshi-san? He, uh—“

“Those yakuza that had Tsuna were ruthless, nasty people, Nana-san. I don’t have anything but the clothes on my back, now,” the brunet explained. Huh, those weren’t even lies, Tsuna realized. In fact…Toshi’s answers never outright answered any questions…

“Oh, dear! Do you need a place to stay, Toshi-san? I could lend you my husband’s clothes as well — I doubt he’d mind, and he’s out of the country right now!”

Toshi is silent for a while, but he speaks carefully as he places down his cup. “…Sawada-san, do you always invite strangers into your home without a second thought?”

Nana laughs airily, “What do you mean, Toshi-san? I’m only being hospitable,” She smiles her normal smile, and it’s strange, but it’s the first time Tsuna notices a faint sheen to his mother’s eyes as she suddenly perks up. “Ara ara, where are my manners. You’re an adult, yes? I’ll go fetch some proper drinks after what happened! Please, sit tight, enjoy the meal!”

Tsuna’s left gaping as his mother walks off. Of course, he’s noticed how his mother was always the happy-go-lucky, go-with-the-flow type of person, and never has there been a situation that’s broken her stride, but… he’s never realized how bad this brush-off sort of personality could be. What if Toshi-san was some —no, wait, Toshi-san _could still be a serial killer._ He certainly _looked_ like some sort of organized crime thug, with his tattered but previously worn expensive suit and those gunshot wounds from before; who was to say this was just a single act of kindness out of many—

Suddenly, a hand is put on his head, ruffling his gravity-defying hair into chaotic disorder. Tsuna looks up to _warmthcarekindsky?gold?_ eyes and his breath catches.

“Don’t worry kid,” Toshi smiles disarmingly. “I don’t think I’m a very good man, not for a long time, but I will always look out for family.”

Family?

And Tsuna finally, truly _notices_ the gravity-defying brown hair, a shade darker than his own, the delicate bone-structure of two races, the shape of almond eyes too wide to be fully Japanese, the curve of a smooth jawline _just_ _like his_ , the slope of an aristocratic nose like a _father-never-home_ —

Family. 

And Tsuna can’t help but tentatively smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna is incredibly dense and I really wanted to capitalize on that. I mean, c’mon? Has anyone read those last few chapters of KHR? On another note, please don’t ask for updates. This was an accident!fic, I swear, when my stories Shade and The X-Factor went to Vegas or something. While the winner of that poll on my profile page played magistrate. Haha. *cries*
> 
> PS: Toshiyuna = Tsunayoshi if you play around with the name like Dokuro and Rokudo haha. (Also, apparently "Toshi" means "mirror image/reflection" and "yuna" means "gentle heart" like OMG?!)


End file.
